A.N. So…ok. I suppose this qualifies as RPF, which is something I am not really comfortable with and swore to myself I would never do. Then again, I blame Mr. and Mrs. Reichenbach for starting it. With that last name, giving their son the first name of one of the four characters known to have been at the falls in The Final Problem is asking for fanfiction to be written. If they'd named their baby Serge, or Samuel, or anything else, it wouldn't have been as perfect. Obviously I am sure that the actual Olympic athlete is not at all implicated in any shady affairs. But I couldn't help myself. I apologise.

This is written for Sherlock Biennial Sports challenge, though it sort of cheats on it, and before I am sued by someone, of course I don't own anything. Otherwise I'd already be offering Mr. Sébastien Reichenbach a contract for a special episode…

Anticipation

"Moriarty is dead, no question. But more importantly ...I know exactly what he's going to do next."

When Jim received the text with the quote, from his favourite naughty girl, he couldn't help but chuckle and shake his head in mock disappointment. True, drugs would impair the world's only consulting detective (such a pity), but did he really think that Jim was less clever or resourceful than him? Tsk, tsk. Of course he faked his death too (and no, he wasn't going to explain how unless you paid him).

Who else would have cared enough about him to organise such a stunt? Big brother? Oh please. As if Mycroft could do such a thing without commandeering resources that would make him be discovered all too soon. The so-called British Government played in the shadows. He was surprisingly shy, in a sense. Jim was the one for big, flashy displays of power.

And of course, Agra was the mole who allowed him to time the show so perfectly. It should be painfully obvious… But apparently, being conspicuously pregnant allows a woman a lot of leeway. Why most women waste it on satisfying cravings, Jim didn't know. Then again, not everyone had a flair for covert ops operations.

Given that Sherly was so widely off the mark in his first statement, the consulting criminal suspected that his other claim was nothing more than empty bragging, as well. Sir Boast-a-lot, indeed…even if he hadn't been at first. Moriarty smiled softly to himself.

Jim would have loved for the sleuth to really have deduced his plan, read his mind, because they were really mirror images, one mind split in two at the start of the universe. (He could wax poetic if he wanted to.) Only Holmes had let himself be tainted by all these…feelings. They'd almost destroyed him. Moriarty had to be there for him, to put him back together the way he should have been in the first place.

Of course, he needed to get rid of the pet first. But never mind that… Agra was already in place and would kill her husband when he ordered her to do so. She knew better than disobey him in any way, and no matter what act she needed to put up in order to be accepted, she wasn't silly enough to develop actual feelings for him. Besides, Jim still had to find one single quality – besides a bit of blind loyalty – that would make anyone love him. Sherly could be so puzzling sometimes.

If the consulting detective had not yet, though, he would deduce his plan – or, well, part of his plan – very soon. True, there was the off chance that Jim's plot would pass unnoticed simply because the sleuth couldn't be bothered with what the rest of the world considered common knowledge. Especially not now that a game was looming, even if his rival expected new players on the board.

Sherlock surrounded himself with ordinary people, though, and one of the hobbies of ordinary people seemed to be sports. The washed-out version of the wars Jim played for his own entertainment, he supposed. Sherlock's pressure points would be following the Olympic games. Everyone was. And surely someone – the pet most probably, or perhaps even the DI – would casually mention, "There's a cyclist competing in Rio de Janeiro whose last name is Reichenbach. Just like that case you solved that made your fame go sky-high. What a coincidence, uh? Isn't it droll?"

The detective would narrow his eyes for a second, and then play it off, agreeing with his oblivious associates. If there was one thing that Jim's games had literally beaten into him, it was that their dance was to be performed alone, lest anyone he relied on end up in the crosshairs. But coincidences rarely happened, and certainly not when Moriarty was involved.

The sleuth would look into the man. On the surface, everything would be perfectly legit. Sebastian had even a wiki page, a career…and his cover identity being Swiss, the odd last name made even sense. But creating new identities for people was one of the things Jim did best, his Richard Brook persona being only the most prominent example. It was so fun playing with the details! And Seb's surprisingly youthful face meant that he could take away a good ten years from his curriculum vitae and it would appear believable.

On second thought, the consulting detective would start noticing more 'coincidences'. Like the man's first name. While Sherly had been playing at destroying (as if Jim would let him do that in full) the spider's web, he had to have heard about the Tiger. Jim's pet. Or, in other words, Bast.

Sherly would be aware that he hadn't managed to take Bast down, but the reputation as pet might have convinced him that the famous sniper wasn't a threat without a leader… and, much to Jim's laugh, the nickname Bast – the Egyptian cat goddess – might have convinced the consulting detective that said pet was a woman. It wouldn't have surprised the consulting criminal to discover that his rival had suspected Agra to be the mysterious Bast. But Jim had never played with only one sniper… hadn't the pool taught the detective that?

Another interesting trivia: Reichenbach's professional career started since Jim Moriarty's public appearance – the year he'd started his game with Sherly in earnest. Chance? Of course…not. Yes, that required long-term planning from Jim, but he hadn't become the world's only consulting criminal by being unable to draw out his schemes. He might often be more of an immediate reward seeking kind of guy, but when the bounty was worth it, he could definitely wait. And Sherly – the flame to his shadow – was oh so worth it.

Obviously, he didn't make his plot too obvious. Getting Bast in the Olympics as a shooter would be too easy – and also sort of a dead giveaway. Boring. Instead, Moran had turned – on Jim's order – a hobby into a job…and still managed to execute the most important of his boss' hits. Bast was sleep deprived by now, but it was fine. He didn't need any medals. He just needed to be there for when he would be needed...and attract the sleuth's attention in the process.

It was only fair, after all. Agra and the pet had their own holiday in an exotic paradise, which the detective missed – it would have been a bit odd to have a third wheel during the honeymoon. Never mind that Watson didn't seem to have enjoyed it all that much, given the amount of time he had been spending on his phone.

Now, the Watsons would have to stay in England (given how obscenely pregnant Agra was) and Sherly could have his own tropic sojourn. Not exactly a vacation, true, but he'd be bored with just swimming and trying unsuccessfully to tan. No, Jim had prepared a little game for him. One that would still allow – or better said, require – him to partake of the best pleasures Brazil offered…but with the added mental challenge.

Jim would 'casually' end up in the sleuth's same haunts, and see if he could blend in enough that Sherly wouldn't pick on his presence. Then again, he was so changeable…he might end offering his other half a drink to reciprocate for that delicious tea in 221B.

True, it would be a pity to see Bast captured if the consulting detective was sharp enough (all these drugs lately…really, what was the boy thinking?) to deduce his scheme AND find evidence for it. But if Jim could corrupt a whole UK jury for shit and giggles, he could certainly do the same anywhere in the world. Everyone had pressure points.

As for what would happen if his favourite Holmes wasn't quick enough to figure out what Moriarty had planned…to say it now would be telling, wouldn't it? If Bast wasn't caught in time, you could be sure of one thing. Everyone would notice what was bound to happen. Jim never regretted his penchant for occasional flamboyance. It made for good adverts…and multiplied the fun.

As an aside… It wasn't exactly planned, but there was always the chance that Sherlock would decide to enter the Olympic village undercover – Mycroft's help would make that possible, despite all the security. If he did, whatever sport he picked, Jim was very eager to see him in his chosen sport's attire.

Though knowing Sherly he would pick fencing only because it would keep him better masked. Oh well, Moriarty could appreciate his counterpart in anything. Of course, if he put on shorts to approach Bast as a fellow cyclist… No, stop it, Jim, drooling is unappealing.